


Mating Games 2013 Weekly Challenges (Director's Cut)

by the_deep_magic



Series: Mating Games [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Awkward Stiles, Blood, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Fingerfucking, First Time, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Kinbaku (Japanese Rope Bondage), Knotting, Multi, Open Relationships, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threesome - F/M/M, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are my entries for the main challenges.  Pairings may vary, but all will be explicit and I'll put warnings at the head of each chapter if appropriate.  I call it the director's cut because I'm having to seriously pare them down to make the 750-word limit; here are the fics as I originally wrote them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Week 1: First/Last Times

**Author's Note:**

> Derek/Stiles, no warnings
> 
> _It’s forbidden fruit – something Stiles has always wanted to touch but has never dared._

“Distract him,” Deaton snaps.

“Uh,” Stiles says, scratching the back of his neck.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but neither my soothing voice nor my rapier wit have been much help here.”

On the table, Derek growls and thrashes.  He’s strapped down with wolfsbane rope, which is cutting long abrasions across his chest and arms, but it won’t hold forever and digging the shrapnel out of his shoulder is a delicate job, particularly when his body keeps trying to heal around it.  The hollow point bullet hadn’t been filled with wolfsbane – at least no variant Deaton knew – but whatever was in it is keeping Derek half-feral.  He’s fighting it, moments of lucidity breaking through, but they’re becoming fewer.

“ _Figure something else out_ ,” Deaton grits out slowly, as though Stiles is an idiot, which, how is that fair?  He’s the one that stuffed Derek in his Jeep and got him here, and yes, the upholstery is worse for the wear.

Stiles looks down at Derek – whose fangs are dropped, though his face isn’t shifted at the moment – and takes a deep breath.  “Okay, big guy, I’m pretty much counting on you not remembering any of this, but here goes…”

He moves to stand behind Derek’s head, safely out of biting range, and digs a hand into Derek’s hair.  It’s forbidden fruit – something Stiles has always wanted to touch but has never dared.  At the touch, Derek’s whole body arches up, straining the ropes until they creak.  Then Stiles starts rubbing his fingers in small, firm circles, and Derek slowly relaxes back to the table.

Deaton swiftly goes back to digging in Derek’s shoulder with the scalpel and tweezers.  Derek whines, but Stiles shushes him softly and brings his other hand up to scritch his short fingernails lightly across Derek’s scalp.

Afterwards, Stiles assumes Derek remembers none of it, because he’s completely healed and snarly as ever, but he hasn’t thrown Stiles against a tree or anything, so that’s probably a good sign.

Doesn’t mean Stiles can stop thinking about it, though.  How soft Derek’s hair felt under his fingers, even soaked with sweat.  The way it drained all the tension from his body.  The quiet sound he made when Stiles switched it up and squeezed little bunches of Derek’s hair lightly in his fists.  Stiles thinks (completely altruistically) that Derek would be a lot less grouchy if Stiles gave him scalp rubs regularly.

So a few weeks later, when the pack is watching _The Avengers_ in Derek’s loft and Derek’s sitting on the floor in front of Stiles (apparently his soul is too dark and twisted for the actual couch – oh well, more room for Stiles), Stiles quietly lets his hand drop to start stroking through Derek’s hair.  It’s got gel or something in it now, so it’s a little stiff under Stiles’ fingers, but he can still press against Derek’s scalp.  He can feel Derek slump back against the couch, relaxing under Stiles’ ministrations… until Derek reaches up and bats Stiles’ hand away.

Stiles spends the rest of the movie alternately sulking and wondering if maybe he should try again.  He doesn’t, though.  Nobody seems to have noticed that first time, and he probably shouldn’t test his luck again.

When the movie’s over, everyone starts filtering out, and Stiles attempts to hasten the filtering.  But just as he’s reached the door, he hears Derek call his name.  It’s not a growl, but it’s still gruff enough to make everyone freeze right where they’re standing.  Derek doesn’t look mad, exactly.  Well, no worse than usual.  Still, the last thing Stiles wants to acknowledge is what happened during the movie.  He’s probably lucky he didn’t get his hand bitten off.  “Um, I’m Scott’s ride, so—”

“Isaac can take him,” Derek says, and nobody bothers to point out that Isaac actually lives here; they all just file out like good little ducklings.

When it’s just Stiles and Derek left, Stiles stares pointedly at Derek’s shoes.  He doesn’t really feel like he needs to apologize, but Derek’s not exactly a touchy-feely person, so maybe he should—

Before Stiles can even finish the thought, Derek’s feet are moving and Stiles’ back is pressed to the wall.  Pressed, not slammed.  Stiles’ heart is hammering, but the way Derek’s eyes are searching his face for something Stiles can’t identify, it’s not out of fear.  After a moment, Derek’s pressing his lips to Stiles’, and Stiles reaches for the only thing he can think of – the only thing he’s been thinking of all night – Derek’s hair.

The kiss starts out surprisingly gentle, but when Stiles’ fingers clench reflexively, it turns _hungry_ , Derek pushing his thumb against Stiles’ chin until Stiles’ mouth opens under Derek’s.

As suddenly as it started, it stops, and Stiles is left gasping and confused.  But then Derek is dropping easily to his knees, working at Stiles’ belt and fly with single-minded focus and it’s a struggle for Stiles just to stay upright.

Derek is clean-shaven for once, and his cheek is surprisingly soft against Stiles’ rapidly hardening cock.  When he buries his nose against the curls at Stiles’ groin and inhales deeply, Stiles nearly topples forward.  Derek first steadies Stiles’ hips against the wall, then shoots him a remarkably arrogant look for a man on his knees.  He very deliberately take Stiles’ hands, one at a time, and places them on his own head.

Oh.

The only warning Stiles gets is “You can pull if you want” before Derek is swallowing him down.  Stiles yelps and takes a moment to be thankful for Derek’s permission, because he’s got a thick fistful of Derek’s hair in each hand.  Derek groans and sinks deeper onto Stiles’ cock before pulling back with hard, sucking pressure.

When Derek settles into a rhythm, Stiles tries to do the same, alternating rubbing circles over Derek’s scalp with long strokes of his fingernails.  Whenever Derek’s tongue finds a particularly good spot – which is often – Stiles tugs urgently at Derek’s hair, just in case Derek can’t hear the increase in volume of Stiles’ helpless babbling.  It’s so loud that Stiles doesn’t hear Derek pull down his own zipper, but when Stiles pauses for breath, under the wet, obscene sounds of Derek’s mouth on him, Stiles can hear Derek frantically stroking himself.

Just the thought of it makes Stiles’ legs start to shake.  All Derek has to do is sink down once more, twisting his tongue against the underside of Stiles’ cock as he goes, and Stiles is done for.  Derek doesn’t seem surprised, though, just swallows him down and keeps sucking until Stiles has to actually pull him off.

Stiles is trying to get his breath back to ask if Derek needs him to do anything other than not collapse on him when Derek’ buries his face against Stiles’ hip and moans hoarsely.  He sounds like he’s close, so Stiles urges him on with fingertips pressed to his scalp, raking lines all the way from the short hair at the nape of Derek’s neck up over the crown of his head, again and again until, with a sharp cry, Derek goes rigid against Stiles for a few seconds before practically collapsing himself.

Stiles keeps idly stroking Derek’s hair, giving it a light tug every once in a while until he can form words again.  “So, uh, you remember that night at Deaton’s?”

“Yes,” Derek replies, voice gratifyingly rough.

“Then why did you—”

“Just… not in front of the betas.”


	2. Week 2: Texts From Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Erica/Stiles with established Derek/Stiles, threesome
> 
> In which Derek learns to share

The most surprising thing about Derek – setting aside the whole werewolf thing – is not his Madonna CD collection.  It’s not his ability to cook gourmet cheese puffs and, like, nothing else.  It’s not even his weird obsession with those hoarder shows, which frankly Stiles thinks are more terrifying than what’s on the inside of a swamp monster (hint: there are leeches, so many leeches).

No, the most surprising thing about Derek is that he likes to… share.

Well, in specific circumstances.

Very specific.

If Stiles had to guess – and he did – he would’ve thought that the whole “mate” thing would mean exclusivity, jealousy, possessiveness.  In a word: monogamy.  But after it was official (yes, there was a ceremony; yes, Derek and Stiles were every bit as embarrassed as Lydia was gleeful; and yes, there were a surprising number of bodily fluids involved), Derek actually seemed _less_ possessive.

There was still just as much post-clusterfuck shoving against walls and growls of _mine, mine_ and the neverending hickeys.  Stiles would’ve been seriously disappointed if any of that had gone away.

But one minute Stiles is getting caught staring just a few seconds too long at Erica stripping for the full moon (not like she needs an occasion, but still), the next he’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, with Erica straddling him and sucking on his tongue while Derek looks on approvingly.

“And this is okay?” Stiles asks, trying to crane his head the best he can toward Derek while Erica’s got his lower lip clamped firmly between distressingly pointy teeth.

Derek smiles – small but genuine, and that more than anything else relieves Stiles’ anxiety – and asks, “Do you want her?”

Erica lets go of Stiles’ lip, which slaps back with a pop.  “The answer had better be yes, Stilinski.”

She’s giving him an arched eyebrow and he splutters, “Well, yeah, but not, like, for good.”

This time Derek and Erica both laugh, and Stiles knows he’s missed something again.  Fuckin’ _werewolves_.

But Derek comes up behind him and rubs broad palms down his arms.  “This is just for fun,” he whispers in Stiles’ ear, so close the puff of air makes him shiver.  “And she wants to play with you so much.  Don’t you, Erica.”

She rolls her eyes and backs off enough to get to Stiles’ pants.  “I’m so glad we both made out with him, though,” she whispers to Stiles, like Derek can’t hear her perfectly.  “I feel like that really brought us together.  As a pack.”

Stiles preens a little at been thought of as pack, but… “Both made—What?  _When_?”

“Forever ago,” Erica snorts.  “Not long after he turned me.  It lasted, like, five seconds, though I did get some tongue action.”

Stiles whips his head around to Derek, who just shrugs.  “Mistakes were made.”

That is not beyond the realm of belief when it comes to Derek.

After that, Stiles loses track of time and just experiences a cascade of sensations instead: Erica’s mouth drifting down to his cock; Derek’s fingers working him open; the roll of a condom; the force of Derek’s first thrust in making Stiles sink into Erica as she slides down against him.

They’re all lying on their sides on the bed – _Stiles and Derek’s bed_ – so there’s not a lot of room for movement, but Stiles has Derek rocking deep into him from behind, his open mouth pressed to the back of Stiles’ neck, while Erica has one leg thrown over Stiles’ hip and is grinding against him, so Stiles is pretty much at peace with being the meat in this particular werewolf sandwich.

Erica’s kisses have grown surprisingly soft, a distinct contrast to the way her fingers are gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, like she’s afraid he’ll push her away.  So Stiles brings a hand up to cup her face, and it’s a tight fit, but he worms the other one down between their bodies to press his thumb against her clit.

She cries out and rocks back harder, pushing Stiles into Derek and they both moan.  “Make her come,” Derek growls low in Stiles’ ear, and fuck if that isn’t almost enough to end it right this second for Stiles.  But Derek continues, “Get her off and you’ll get more.”

Stiles can’t imagine being able to take more of _anything_ at the moment, but he focuses on Erica, finding the right rhythm against her clit while she pants and works herself on his cock.  It doesn’t take long, especially with Stiles whispering every dirty thought that crosses his mind, and Erica’s coming, squeezing so tight around Stiles that it’s only the blunt pain of Derek’s teeth sinking into his shoulder that keeps Stiles from losing it.

They either planned this out ahead of time or it’s another case of _fuckin’ werewolves_ , because as soon as Erica stops shaking, she and Derek roll simultaneously so that Erica’s on her back, Stiles still inside her, and Derek’s on top of them both.  Stiles can’t see the question on Derek’s face, but Erica nods once and says “Go,” and Derek pulls back and thrusts forward so deep that Stiles sees stars.

Each hard thrust shoves Stiles into Erica, but she doesn’t seem to mind as long as Stiles doesn’t grind against her oversensitive clit.  It’s _so_ far past too much, Derek’s thick length splitting him open and shoving him over and over again into Erica’s wet heat, that Stiles has to bury his head against Erica’s neck, whimper, and just try to hold on.

Erica recovers fast, and soon she’s moving her hips in a counterpoint to Derek’s thrusts, and pressed between them, Stiles feels every nerve in his body light up.  He wants to make Erica come again but he’s already so close, teetering right on the knife edge when Derek changes the angle.  The pleasure shoots straight through him so hard his toes curl and Erica clenches around him, drawing it out until he’s sure he’ll die from it.

Time slips away from him again, and he’s vaguely aware of Derek coming with a deep growl, then two pairs of hands moving his limp body around.  There’s moment when all the warmth surrounding him pulls away and he makes a truly pathetic sound until they’re back around him, reversed this time: Derek against his front and Erica pressed to his back.

“Mine,” Derek whispers, pulling Stiles against his chest.  Erica hums in agreement, rubbing Stiles’ sides but not going anywhere near the bites and bruises Derek left around his neck and shoulders.  Stiles reaches back to hold Erica’s hand, and he thinks he gets it now.  Derek doesn’t need to be possessive; Stiles is already his, for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TFLN Prompt -- [(860):](http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/Text-Replies-49138.html) I’m so glad we both made out with him though. I feel like that really brought us together.


	3. Week 3: Kink Grab Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erica/Stiles, fingerbanging
> 
> This is a lot more fun than the way they do it on the Discovery Channel.

There’s a lot that Erica can tolerate for Stiles’ sake – god knows he does the same for her – but a six-hour marathon of “How It’s Made” on the Discovery Channel is not among them.

Still, she doesn’t feel like getting up off the couch, where she’s lying spooned up so nicely against Stiles, his chin resting on the top of her head and one hand resting on her hip, idly stroking the skin just above the waistband of her jeans.  It’s oddly domestic for them, but this position is good for two things, and Erica isn’t feeling sleepy.

Reaching up, she covers Stiles’ hand with her own.  He whines when she pulls it off her hip, but makes another sound entirely when she brings his hand up to her mouth and sucks on two of his fingers, twirling her tongue around the sensitive tips until she can feel him start to harden against her lower back.  But he’s got his TV show to keep him busy, she reasons, so she should get the use of his fingers.  They’re long and graceful and stroke lightly against her tongue, and she wets them as thoroughly as she can.

The next part is a little tricky: maneuvering his wet fingers into her jeans without undoing them.  The jeans are tight enough to make her tingle pleasantly if she crosses her legs, but right now she wants the slick pressure of Stiles’ fingers against her.

He pushes them beneath her panties and she stops him just as the tips press against her folds – not that he’s got the room go much farther, anyway.  She presses between his first two knuckles, getting him to split his fingers slightly so they’re resting on either side of her clit.  He makes a soft, broken noise when she clasps him by the wrist and begins to rock back and forth, teasing herself.  She knows from experience that he’s all too happy to be her own personal sex toy when she needs it.

His fingers are a tight fit between the material and her skin, and she only has to roll her hips slightly to get the feeling she wants, warm little jolts of pleasure that start her nerve endings sizzling.  She likes the build-up, and her mouth falls open as her breath starts to come a little faster.

Stiles whispers her name into her hair, kissing the top of her head and tucking up tighter against her back, no doubt so he can feel the motion of her hips.  But this is about her right now – her feeling good, her getting off – and when he squeezes his fingers together ever so slightly, she bucks and gasps in surprise.  He immediately relaxes his fingers and she can feel him smiling against her scalp.

Fine.  He wants be a more active participant here?  Erica can work with that.  She pulls his hand back slightly and squeezes his first two fingers together before guiding them back down.  Grasping the back of his hand, she manipulates it so he’s rubbing tight circles around her clit, and he knows not to press too hard, not yet.

She controls the pressure with little more than a slight squirm, but it makes her whole body undulate against his and he moves with her.  It’s starting to get really good now, and when he briefly dips his hand down to wet his fingertips, she gasps, suddenly realizing how empty she feels.

As she reaches down to finally unzip her jeans, she mutters, “Don’t you fucking dare stop,” and Stiles squeezes her clit again, gently, making her shudder.  She’d slap the back of his hand for it, but, well, he hardly breaks rhythm and she definitely doesn’t want to discourage him.  She wriggles her jeans and panties down to mid-thigh.  It still doesn’t give him a lot of room to work with, but she gasps, “Other hand,” and she doesn’t even have to tell him what to do. 

He reaches down and slides two fingers into her, murmuring “ _Fuck_ ” when he feels how wet she is.  At this angle, he can’t push very deep – his wrist is probably already straining a bit as it is – but he doesn’t need to.  She just wants the fullness right there at her opening.  “Another one,” she breathes, tightening around his fingers to show it’s not quite enough.  He obliges and oh, fuck, that’s good.  That’s _perfect_.

The pleasure coiling low in her stomach is getting more and more urgent, and she finally grabs his wrist and holds him still, grinding her clit against his fingers.  He’s whispering something in her ear, low and dirty, but she doesn’t hear it at all, only the wet sound of his fingers against her and in her and with a hard shiver, she’s coming, body shuddering silently with each hard pulse of it.

He’s the one who makes noise, little sighs of adoration every time she clenches around his fingers.  When she goes limp, he gentles her down, fingertips wringing a few jolting aftershocks out of her as she gasps for breath.  She’s still got his wrist in an iron grip, but at least there are no claw marks.  When he starts to take his hands away, she gently massages his wrists and fingers.  He doesn’t always believe what comes out of her mouth – not really his fault – but his heart skips a little when she’s gentle with him.

She’s not surprised when he fumbles for the remote.  It wasn’t really the reason she started this, but it’s a bonus.  “What?” she asks, getting a final glance at the show before he switches it off.  “You don’t want to find out how steel shipping drums are made?”

“Already saw that one,” he says, and she can practically hear the grin before she sees it, when he flips her onto her back and kisses her down into the cushions.


	4. Week 4: The Ties That Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, knotting
> 
> Stiles might never have wanted it, but he has it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the deal with this one. The first draft was close to 4,000 words long and starting to develop a plot -- not so good when I needed a 750-word cut of porn. The plotty version isn't ready yet, but I hate to go without posting a bit of expansion for the reveal, so in the end there will be three versions of this fic. O_o

Derek walks quietly into their room in case Stiles is still sleeping, but now the footsteps bring him to full alertness in a second.  The sheet slides down, revealing Stiles bare chest, only a few smears of blood left.  Derek places his hand over Stiles’ heart where the puncture marks have almost faded.  “I’m sorry.  I know you didn’t want this.”

Stiles puts his hands over Derek and gives him a hard look.  “I wanted to _live_.  And I gave you permission a long time ago if it was the only way.”

Derek tries to hold his eyes, but can’t.  “It still wasn’t what you wanted.”

He feels, just as much as hears, Stiles heave a sigh.  “Don’t you dare apologize.  I made it ten years.  _Ten years_ without a fatal injury.  Considering what we do, that’s got to be some kind of a record.”

The mischievous spark in Stiles’ eyes makes Derek’s lip quirk up; he can’t help it.  “I couldn’t let you go.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Stiles says, his mouth breaking into a full-on grin.  “Hey, there’s something I’ve always meant to ask you.  Real wolf packs, they’re headed by alpha pairs, right?”

It’s Derek’s turn to grin.

&&&

“So you’re both alphas now?” Isaac asks incredulously.

Stiles answers before Derek can.  He’s pretty sure that’s going to become a thing now; he’d better get used to it.  “We were mated before.  That didn’t change when he turned me.”

Erica raises her hand, actually _raises her hand_.  “So if Daddy won’t let me borrow the car, does that mean that I can ask Mommy to—”

“Nobody borrows the Camaro,” Derek snarls. 

Stiles slaps Derek across the chest with the back of his hand – he’s always done that, but now he doesn’t flinch and try to shake the pain out of his hand.  “Chill.  Everything stays the same.  I’m not going to order you around—”

“More than you already do,” Boyd mutters.

“It’s going to be a little… strange… at first,” Derek pipes up.

“But mostly it means you don’t get to beat the shit out of me during training,” Stiles says, then turns on Erica.  “Don’t think I haven’t been keeping score all this time.”

She scoffs loudly, but Derek has to bite back a laugh.  They’re all in for it now.

Including Derek.

Shit.

&&&

Luckily, Stiles has some catching up to do.  He’d worked hard to train his human body, but he’s still getting used to his heightened reflexes and no matter what he says, he still has some control issues.  Jackson can attest to that.  And he still can’t pin Derek.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says afterward, only a little out of breath.  “That was fucking _insane_.”

Derek tries to hide the pride swelling in his chest – Stiles was always a fighter, devious and resourceful, but soon he’s going to be nearly unstoppable, and his _ego’s_ going to be unstoppable once he figures that out.  He only means to reward Stiles with a quick kiss, but Stiles is running high on adrenaline and new werewolf stamina and he turns them both to slam Derek up against a wall.

It’s not a hard hit, but it comes as such a shock that it knocks the breath out of Derek’s lungs for just a second.  Stiles smirks, eyes flashing red, and leans in, breathing hot across Derek’s open mouth.  “How do you like _that_ , sourwolf?”

_There’s_ a name Derek hasn’t heard in years, and it takes him spinning back through the years of their relationship.  It makes him think about the things Stiles can do now that he couldn’t before… and the things Derek can do to him.  Derek’s always had to hold back, and while it was always worth it, the prospect of letting loose is intoxicating.  Stiles grins and kisses him hard enough to knock Derek’s head back into the wall, and the slight burst of pain is quickly lost in the frenzy.  Derek supposes he’s got quite a few more head knocks coming before the scorecard is even.

Derek doesn’t let Stiles drag him to the bedroom; he pushes back, makes Stiles use more and more of his strength to take what he wants.  And Stiles is getting off on it like crazy, if the growing scent of arousal is any indication.  Not that Stiles isn’t used to taking the lead in the bedroom, but now he can smell just how much Derek likes it, hear it in the skip of his heart whenever Stiles forces him to take another step back. 

By the time they’re on the bed, Derek’s shirt is in actual shreds, and while they’re going to need to work on that later, for now, it’s hot as fuck.  “I can get you naked faster now,” Stiles sing-songs, and Derek can feel the point of a fang graze his earlobe.

“How do you want me?” Derek breathes, letting the tips of his claws out and raking them slowly down Stiles’ sides.  For the first time, he purposefully draws blood, and Stiles immediately pins him down by the shoulders and growls, an entirely animal sound that he’s never made before. 

The cuts heal almost immediately, but Stiles’ eyes stay red.  “You don’t need to try to provoke me,” he says, his voice a rumbling snarl.

“Maybe I want to,” Derek hisses back, and Stiles all but attacks him with his mouth. Submitting to Stiles as a human was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, but submitting to Stiles as an alpha satisfies something in the very marrow of his animal bones.  Derek would never have given him the bite if he hadn’t been an inch from death, and he may always feel a twinge of guilt, but his wolf howls _this is how it was always meant to be_.

Derek grabs the lube from the nightstand and quickly preps himself.  He can tell by the curl of Stiles’ lip that Stiles wants to be the one with his fingers buried in Derek, stretching him open, but they both know Stiles’ tenuous control over his claws could put a stop to this immediately.  So Stiles settles for latching his mouth on to Derek’s neck, sucking hard.  It’s almost too much for Derek to take.

When Derek is fucking himself on three fingers, Stiles licks his way up to Derek’s ear.  “On your stomach.  That okay?”

Derek kisses Stiles quickly but deeply, leaving no room for doubt as he rolls over onto his stomach and pulls one knee up, opening himself to Stiles in no uncertain terms.  “Oh my god, Derek,” he hears in a harsh whisper behind him.  It’s not like Stiles has never seen him like this before, but Stiles’ new wolf has never been presented with submission like this and Derek smiles into his folded arms, because it’s got to be making Stiles _crazy_.

Still, he’s not quite expecting it when Stiles pushes three fingers in and hooks them just right, unrelenting pressure on Derek’s sweet spot and he cries out, his cock curved up to his belly and leaking a little more with each push of Stiles’ fingers.  His need is heightened to a level he’s never felt before, and it must be the new strength of the bond between them.  He’s totally unprepared for it, and he feels like a teenager ready to go off at the slightest touch again.  “S-Stiles, if you want this to last more than a few seconds—“

“Shh,” Stiles whispers, but it’s a little shaky.  “I’ve got you.”  He eases up on Derek’s prostate, but keeps pumping three fingers into him, and the fullness is so, so good, but it’s not enough.

Derek can feel the bed shifting behind him as Stiles rises to his knees, getting himself in possession.  “Guess I get to see if that ‘werewolf stamina’ is a myth or not.”

Derek groans loudly, because Stiles as a human had built an improbable level of stamina to keep up with Derek.  God only knows what he’ll be capable of now. 

Stiles slides home in one long, achingly slow push, Derek’s body more receptive than it’s ever been.  Stiles must feel it, too, that ache that’s more than his own, because his voice catches on Derek’s name over and over as he stays buried to the hilt, draped over Derek’s back.

The burn subsides quickly, and Derek needs friction, needs to feel Stiles thrusting deep into him.  “Stiles, _move_ ,” Derek growls with all the authority he can muster.

Stiles’ answering growl has Derek shuddering even before his hips start a steady pace that has the entire bed rocking.  It’s familiar – good, always good, but a little too familiar.  “You’re holding back,” Derek grunts, pushing back against Stiles’ thrusts the best he can in this position.  “Don’t.”

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” Stiles gasps, shoving in deep and holding.

The idea that Stiles could hurt him is a lot less laughable now than it was a few days ago, but they both need this, to find out how they fit together now.  “You won’t,” Derek murmurs, aware that Stiles can hear him perfectly well.

Stiles bends and presses a hot, sucking kiss to the back of Derek’s neck.  “I love the hell out of you,” he whispers.  “Nothing can change that.”

Then he immediately sets about fucking Derek into oblivion.

Stiles’ fingers wrapped around his hips and Stiles’ cock pounding hard into him are a little painful, but the pleasure of being taken so forcefully and surely by his mate overrides everything else and Derek bites back on a whine.  He has to brace his arms against the headboard, which is already making small cracking sounds on Stiles’ every thrust.

“Okay, Derek,” Stiles says, breathless but not pausing.  “I let go.  Now you.”

He presses a hand between Derek’s shoulder blades, fingers spreading wide across the tattoo, and finds the angle that makes Derek wail.  Normally, Stiles can only hold this position for a few minutes at a time before his legs start to tremble, but now he could fuck Derek for hours like this if he wanted to, and the thought of it makes Derek moan, his cock hanging heavy and untouched.

Derek’s so lost in it that it takes him a few moments to realize that Stiles’ thrusts have shortened, slowed down a little.  It takes a harder push to get their hips flush and a stronger pull to get them apart.  All at once Stiles freezes, nothing but the tip of his cock still inside Derek, and when Derek cranes his head up, Stiles is staring down, his mouth open.

“Am I – holy fuck, Derek, do I have a _knot_?”

Derek knows born alphas do, but he’d never stopped to think…  “Touch the base of your cock,” Derek says, trying and failing to keep his voice even.  “Is it sensitive?”

Stiles wraps a hand around himself and immediately shudders.  “ _Holy god_.”

So that would be a yes.  “Do it.”

Stiles’ mouth falls open.  “You want me to—”

“Fucking tie me with it, yeah.”

“But you’ve never… And _I’ve_ sure as hell never…”

“Don’t care.  I need it.”  Derek’s voice drops almost an octave.  “You do, too.”

Stiles nods, never breaking eye contact, and Derek wishes he could watch Stiles’ face as they do this, but Stiles has always been much more comfortable on his stomach when Derek has knotted him before.  So Derek drops back into position.

Even with his fingers holding Derek as far apart as possible, it takes Stiles a few wriggling thrusts to work the swelling knot in, and Derek can hear Stiles’ heartbeat skyrocket every time the hypersensitive bulge meets the stretched rim of Derek’s hole.  He’s prepared for the burn – Stiles has told him it’s intense, but not unbearable – but when Stiles is finally in, their bodies locking together, Derek is completely blindsided by the fullness, the growing pressure.  It’s so overwhelming he can’t move, can’t make a sound.  This is Stiles staking pure, animal claim over everything Derek is, something so far beyond the sexual that Derek is sure even Stiles doesn’t have words for it.

Stiles has fallen forward on his hands, breath coming out in panting sobs against the back of Derek’s neck as he tries to thrust, but can’t.  Instead, he has to make hard circles with his hips, pressing against places inside Derek he never knew existed, but even that comes to a halt when Stiles’ knot is at its full size.  It feels huge inside Derek; it hurts, yes, but it also feels like something vital he never knew he was missing until just now.

All Stiles can do now is grind against Derek, and when he hits the right spot at the same time that his teeth clamp down on the back of Derek’s neck, Derek comes in a white-hot rush of agonizing pleasure, his untouched cock spurting hard all over the sheets.  But Stiles has got him held fast from neck to hips, so all he can do is jerk helplessly in the warm cage of Stiles’ embrace.  _I’ve got you_ , he hears, even though Stiles isn’t saying it.

Stiles starts to come with Derek’s final hard shudder, and he releases Derek’s neck to throw his head back and howl.  Derek has never felt so proud, so desperately in love with another being than at that moment.  _He belongs to Stiles_.  He always has, but his wolf is more sated, more at ease than it’s ever been.

Stiles is still coming when his arms give out and he collapses onto Derek’s back.  Derek shakes a little with laughter, and he’s got just enough strength to stretch out his leg and lower them both to the bed so Stiles can sprawl on top of him and just enjoy it.  Stiles moans Derek’s name again and again, mouthing loosely at his shoulder as his body pumps more and more of his seed into Derek.  Derek thinks Stiles passes out when he’s done.

&&&

Derek stops trying to estimate the amount of time they’ve been locked together.  When Stiles regained consciousness, they began the delicate and hilariously awkward process of trying to lie spooned together on their sides.  Derek’s used to being able to do it as the big spoon, easily maneuvering Stiles’ lighter body against his own.  But Stiles is obviously new to this, so it takes some verbal coordination and more than a few painful tugs before they’re comfortable.

But once they are, Derek is back in that warm, sated place in his mind that he’s pretty sure he shares with Stiles now.  Stiles is wrapped around him like an octopus, and god knows that’s never been an uncommon occurrence, but now he’s the one filling up _Derek_ from the inside, holding him captive. 

Stiles shifts on the bed to kiss Derek’s shoulder, and it jostles the knot inside him just enough to press on some nerves that make his spent cock twitch.  “You really like this, don’t you?” Stiles says, his voice full of quiet amazement.  “Being knotted?”

“Don’t you?  When I do it, I mean?”

“Of course,” Stiles laughs.  “But I didn’t know if you would, with your whole… y’know… thing.”

Something occurs to Derek suddenly.  “You haven’t said it yet.”

Stiles doesn’t even have to ask for clarification.  “Oh my god, I haven’t!  Can I say it now?  I don’t want to kill the mood.”

Derek heaves a put-upon sigh, even though he knows Stiles can hear his heartbeat kick up.  “Just get it over with.”

Stiles gets his lips right behind Derek’s ear, and what comes out is a growled whisper that has Derek quivering.  “ _I’m the alpha now_.”

Nope, definitely not killing the mood.


	5. Week 5: Picture Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, warning: poorly-executed bondage
> 
> Prompt was photo #5 from [this list](http://mating-games.livejournal.com/9456.html) (NSFW).
> 
> Stiles wants to surprise Derek. He succeeds.

Derek sets his groceries down and peers at the writhing mess on his living room floor. He takes a few moments, examines it from multiple angles. It’s really quite the display.  
  
“Okay,” he says eventually, “I give up. Some type of performance art?”  
  
“You’re a bad person,” Stiles groans from his position on the floor. “Morally, I mean. And occasionally hygienically.”  
  
Derek shrugs. “Just trying to get some context here.”  
  
“The _context_ is that this was supposed to be a sexy surprise.”  
  
“On my hardwood floor?”  
  
“It didn’t start out on the floor, dumbass. I started in our bed like a sane person, but something went… awry.”  
  
“So I’d guessed.”  
  
“And there weren’t any scissors in the bedroom, so I was attempting to get to the kitchen.”  
  
It would seem that Stiles has been awkwardly rolling across the floor in his quest. Derek’s never been so glad that he moved out of the loft, because he has no doubt that, had there been stairs involved, Stiles still would’ve tried to take them on.  
  
He’s banged up enough as it is, easy enough to see because he’s wearing nothing but tight black briefs. There are rope burns across his chest from what had probably once been a ladder of lovely, intricate knots. However, the main problem seems to be that Stiles has managed to securely fasten his ankles not only together, but also to his left wrist… behind his back. So his lower legs and left arm are tucked up beneath him with only his right arm free. There’s a length of rope trailing out behind him, and his shoulders and knees are already dark red in a way Derek knows will blossom into bruises. But the ropes aren’t constricting Stiles’ breathing or cutting off his circulation, so Derek doesn’t really need to do anything just yet.  
  
“But now that you’re here, you can just” – Stiles makes a clawing motion with his free hand – “Wolverine me right out of this.”  
  
“And why would I want to do that?” Derek asks, letting a predatory smile spread across his face. “If I’m such a morally bad person.”  
  
He sees Stiles wince with that _I’ve totally set myself up for this and now I have to talk my way out of it_ look. Derek is pretty familiar with that one. “Um, redemption? Or because you want to get laid?”  
  
Derek quirks an eyebrow, looking pointedly between Stiles’ slightly spread thighs. His ankles are bound together, but Derek could easily get between Stiles’ legs… and Derek sees the moment when Stiles realizes just that. “I don’t see anything stopping me now,” Derek says dryly.  
  
“Respect for my bodily agency?” Stiles tries with a squeak.  
  
“I’ll do my best to resist ravishing you,” Derek sighs and reaches down to scoop Stiles off the floor. He has to be more careful than usual with Stiles tied up, his weight distributed so awkwardly, but it’s still easy enough to sling Stiles over his shoulder and take him back to the bedroom. The groceries can wait.  
  
By the time Derek has laid Stiles out on the bed – already rumpled to a ludicrous degree, presumably by Stiles’ struggle to free himself – Stiles’ briefs are even tighter, and Derek can see the clear outline of his growing erection. Derek kneels between Stiles’ spread thighs and rubs at Stiles through the fabric, cupping and squeezing until Stiles is writhing again for a completely different reason. “So what was the original idea here?”  
  
“J-Japanese rope bondage,” Stiles gasps. “It’s hot.” He nods at a spread of computer printouts – some on the bed, most on the floor – showing naked men and women bound in elaborately tied ropes, some of their bodies in improbable positions. Stiles is right, there is something undeniably sexy about the obvious care and time that went into the binding as well as the precise placement of the knots, but Derek is positive that none of it was done by the subjects themselves. Sure enough, he also finds a printout of do-it-yourself instructions, and he only has to read the first three steps to be amazed that Stiles got as far as he did. Stiles is pretty damn flexible, but he only has so many hands.  
  
“You hurt?” Derek asks, suddenly wondering if Stiles is in the mood for this, tented briefs or not.  
  
Stiles sighs. “Only my pride. And my dick, so cut me out of this and kiss it all better.”  
  
Chuckling, Derek shifts up the bed to shove a pillow under Stiles’ shoulders, supporting his head and neck. “I don’t know. You’ve wrapped yourself up so nicely for me, it seems like a shame to waste it.”  
  
“Don’t tease,” Stiles whines as Derek slowly drags a hand down Stiles’ chest, mindful of the abraded skin, and yeah, he’s in the mood.  
  
“I thought teasing was the whole point of this,” Derek says, bending down to nuzzle at Stiles’ clothed erection. The briefs are already a little damp with precum and Derek groans at the heavy scent of growing arousal.  
  
He feels Stiles’ fingers combing through his hair. “But I can barely touch you.”  
  
The head of Stiles’ cock is peeking out of the waistband now, and Derek fits his mouth over it and sucks very lightly, just once. “If you’d actually managed to tie yourself up, you wouldn’t be able to touch me at all,” Derek says, letting his breath ghost over the wet head of Stiles’ dick. He sucks again, sweeping his tongue over the slit to make Stiles buck beneath him. “But if you want me to cut you out of there, I will.”  
  
Stiles groans, obviously caught between his pride and his libido. “It’ll take too long. Keep going.”  
  
Actually, with Derek’s claws, it would take a matter of seconds, but there’s a reason Stiles was trying to tie himself up in the first place without letting Derek know in advance, so Derek tugs Stiles’ briefs down just enough to free his cock and balls.  
  
And then he leans up over Stiles’ chest again, tucking Stiles’ right arm underneath his body, where it would’ve gone if he were tied up properly. Stiles doesn’t resist, just whimpers softly as Derek kisses over each of the rope burns. By sheer luck, one loop of rope has managed to stay tight over Stiles’ nipples, and Derek tugs at it a little, getting Stiles to arch up into the scratching pressure.  
  
By the time Derek has kissed his way back down, Stiles’ cock is flushed an angry red, rock hard and begging for attention. So Derek goes straight for Stiles’ balls first, sucking each one into his mouth in turn until Stiles is practically sobbing. Derek wonders if he pushed a finger against the sweet spot behind Stiles’ balls right now, if Stiles could come just like that. He seems worked up enough that it might be possible.  
  
But in the end, Derek is greedy and wants Stiles to come down his throat. It doesn’t take much, just the warm, wet slide of Derek’s tongue as he bobs his head. In less than a minute, Stiles is crying out, Derek’s hands holding him steady as Derek swallows him down.  
  
As soon as Stiles collapses back to the bed, Derek’s claws are out and he’s cutting neatly through the ropes. Once Stiles is free, Derek helps him stretch out on the bed, and Stiles’ groan is half pleasure at extending his cramped limbs and half pain as the circulation returns.  
  
“I am totally gonna reciprocate,” Stiles slurs, “as soon as I can feel anything but pins and needles below my neck.” Even his right arm must be numb from being pressed under his body.  
  
“Idiot,” Derek says fondly, gently moving Stiles’ major joints to make sure nothing’s strained. When he’s done, he crawls up to kiss Stiles, soothing his chapped, bitten lips. “If you wanted to be tied up, all you had to do was ask,” he murmurs against Stiles’ mouth.  
  
“But that ruins the surprise,” Stiles complains, nipping at Derek’s lower lip.  
  
Derek skips over the part where he really doesn’t want to be surprised by coming home one day and finding Stiles hanging by one ankle from an exposed ceiling joist – Derek remembers some of those pictures, and if anyone could manage to accidentally suspend themselves six feet in the air, it would be Stiles – and just whispers, “Think how much better it’ll be when it’s me wrapping those ropes around you, slowly tying those knots in just the right places.”  
  
He’s imagining looping ropes around Stiles’ hips, maybe his upper thighs, placing a knot to press firmly against the sweet spot behind Stiles’ balls. Derek can practically hear the whimpers already.


	6. Week 6: Hungry Like the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Stiles, dark dystopian AU; Warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, implied threat of rape (not carried out)
> 
> This is darker than what I usually write (think mirror-verse characters), but heed the warnings and you should be okay. If you need more info, check out the notes at the end.
> 
> And with that, Mating Games 2013 comes to a close. It's been a blast!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “…my right hand is the wolf.” ~Margaret Atwood, “The Puppet of the Wolf”

“Stiles, get up.  Someone’s coming.”

It was only through long years of conditioning towards self-preservation that Stiles managed to stifle a groan.  He’d been sleeping deeply – much more so than he should have been in this long-abandoned house.  “I told you we shouldn’t have stayed here for the night,” he hissed at Derek.  Houses, no matter how dilapidated they looked, were never safe, but truthfully, Stiles had wanted to sleep on an actual mattress as much as Derek had.

Derek ignored him and peered in the direction of the front of the house.

“How many of them?” Stiles asked, quickly lacing up his boots.  At least neither of them had been foolish enough to undress to sleep.

“Five,” Derek said.  “They know we’re here.  We must’ve left footprints.  Jesus, I should’ve smelled them a mile off.”

He shifted into beta form as Stiles picked up his rusty machete.  He wished he had something better, but he’d run out of ammo three days ago and without it, a rifle was dead weight.  The likelihood of running across a cache of bullets was even lower than the likelihood of finding a pantry still full of canned food.  But the machete was just light enough for Stiles to be able to swing easily and just heavy enough to do real damage.

Derek gave Stiles a quick nod and they both moved out of the bedroom, down the hall, unwilling to be cornered in the back of the house.  The former owners had lasted long enough to put heavy bars on the windows, but the front door jamb had long since been broken.  There were advantages to staying somewhere with a single entry and exit point, but not when you allowed yourself to be cut off from that point.  They left the bags containing their few possessions behind; either they’d be alive to come back and get them, or they wouldn’t.

They met up with the group in the living room, and Stiles immediately had a sawed-off shotgun pointed at his chest.  “Drop the knife, boy,” the man with the shotgun grunted.

Stiles almost laughed.  This was certainly no group of hunters.  Three of them were armed only with makeshift clubs – splintered chunks of wood and a golf club – and the only other one with a firearm – a kid, not much more than a teenager – was holding the gun _sideways_ , for god’s sake.  Stiles wondered if he’d ever even fired it.

Stiles didn’t know how these people had even stayed alive this long.  Probably they were remnants of other groups – castoffs or sole survivors – who had recently banded together.  _An omega pack_ , Stiles thought, trying not to crack a smile.  They all looked to the man with the shotgun as their leader.  He’d probably convinced them they could be a pack of raiders, looking for food and warm bodies that wouldn’t fight back too much.  Despite their number, it was likely they wouldn’t know how to fight in any kind of organized way, and there was almost certainly no wolfsbane or mountain ash in their weapons.  Still, a chest full of buckshot would slow Derek down as his body healed around it, and Stiles would have to spend long hours afterward digging each piece of shrapnel out.

Derek put himself between Stiles and the gun, and the man holding it snorted derisively.  “There doesn’t have to be violence, son.  Call off your pet werewolf here and we’ll talk.”

Derek’s control stayed perfectly intact – well, aside from flexing his clawed hands impatiently – and Stiles stepped up beside him.  He couldn’t help but notice that the man’s eyes and gun remained trained on Derek.  He didn’t look frightened, which meant he had either lost his mind or he truly had no idea what Derek was capable of.  “I’m sorry,” Stiles said.  “ _Pet_ werewolf?”

The man nodded, still not looking at Stiles.  “Smart move, scrawny guy like you pickin’ up an attack dog.  But if you don’t tell him to back off, I’m gonna have to put him down before you and me can… talk.”

At that, he turned his eyes back to Stiles, looking him up and down in a way that made Stiles nauseated.

“What’s there to talk about?” Stiles asked, buying time to figure out an angle of attack.

“Oh, I’m sure you and me and my boys can come to some kind of… arrangement if you want to stay alive.  Can’t say what kind of shape you’ll be in after, but—”

Derek had apparently had enough.  He let out an almost subvocal growl, which startled the others but gave Stiles his cue.  Derek bore right as Stiles bore left – but not before swinging the machete up into the forearm of the man with the shotgun.

The whole thing lasted a matter of seconds, Derek easily slashing the leader’s throat before pouncing on two of the raiders armed with clubs.  The boy with the handgun fired on Stiles, his shot going wide even at the short distance since his grip couldn’t handle the kickback.  He dropped the gun altogether as Stiles slashed once across his stomach and, in the same smooth motion, brought the machete down on the back of his neck as the boy crumpled forward.

When Stiles looked up, the last man was already halfway out the front door, and neither Derek nor Stiles bothered to chase him.  He was no longer a threat and he had nothing they needed.

Stiles’ heart was pounding and he was breathing hard, even though this was far from their hardest or ugliest fight.  But the way his blood rushed whenever they survived another one…  “Derek, get over here.”

As he always did afterwards, Derek got right up in Stiles’ space, sniffing for any injuries.  He’d been nicked in the arm by the bullet, but even though it was barely bleeding, Derek licked at it, soothing his packmate’s wound.

Stiles only gave him a few moments before fisting his hands in Derek’s shirt and yanking him up.  “Hey, I got better places for you to lick.”

Derek had shifted back to human form, but his eyes were still burning red.  “You giving your pet werewolf commands now?” he growled, pressing Stiles into the nearest wall with the entire hot, hard length of his body.

Stiles didn’t even bother with a comeback – the adrenaline was still pumping fast in his veins as he crushed his mouth against Derek’s and hiked a leg up to his waist.  Derek didn’t hesitate, just looped an arm around Stiles’ back and lifted him until Stiles could wind both legs around Derek’s hips.

Wiping a stray splatter of blood from Derek’s cheek, Stiles leaned in to bite at Derek’s lips.  “How fucked up is it that I kind of get off on you taking down three guys in less than thirty seconds?”

Derek laughed darkly, grinding his hips into Stiles’ until Stiles forgot to breath.  “No more fucked up than how hot it is when you swing that machete,” he muttered against Stiles’ throat, then continued sucking what would become a bright, livid bruise into his skin.

Stiles pulled his arms tighter around Derek’s neck, desperate to get enough leverage to thrust back.  But Derek was too strong, using his grip on Stiles’ ass to rut against him at his own pace.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles groaned as Derek found the right angle, slotting their erections together and getting just the right pressure on Stiles’ cock through the fabric of his jeans.  Their clothes were ruined with blood anyway, might as well go all the way with it.  Wouldn’t be the first time.  With any luck, it wouldn’t be the last, either.  “ _Faster_.”

Derek grunted and Stiles leaned back to let the wall take some of his weight and give Derek more room to move.  “He wanted to put his filthy hands all over you,” Derek growled, and Stiles could feel the tips of his claws pressing against his ass.  “Should’ve cut them off.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and grinned.  “Still can.”

Derek _roared_ , hips stuttering until he buried his face against Stiles’ neck and started up a brutal pace that had Stiles sliding a little from the blood spray on the wall.  Stiles laughed, feeling the tension build low in his gut that meant he was close.  “C’mon, you sick bastard,” he moaned, bucking in Derek’s hold.  “Make me come.”

After Derek bit down on Stiles’ lip hard enough for him to taste blood, it only took a few more thrusts before Stiles was arching his back and shaking with release.  Even after Stiles finished, Derek continued rutting messily against his hip, Stiles hissing with the friction on his oversensitive cock but not willing to loosen his hold on Derek until he came, shoving Stiles into the wall so hard that it nearly knocked the breath out of him.  Stiles took Derek’s face in both hands and kissed him, wet and dirty and all tongue, until Derek was panting as hard as Stiles was.

After a few long minutes, Derek loosened his grip enough for Stiles to put his unsteady legs on the ground.  Wordlessly, they set about the task of digging through the dead men’s rucksacks and pockets, looking for anything of value.

Stiles heard a soft gurgle to his left: the boy Stiles had taken down was barely clinging to life.  Derek leaned over and, with a single claw, mercifully slit his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU Derek and Stiles are confronted by a group of men who imply that they will kill Derek but allow Stiles to live if he gives them (unspecified) sexual favors. Derek and Stiles respond violently (it's stated they have to do this often to survive) and are aroused by it, but the violence is not described in graphic detail.


End file.
